Love Can Be Murder

Trenton?"
    "No, I was really looking forward to marrying a rich man and living hundreds of miles from my parents."
    So much for magic words.
    "I'm not like you, Roxann. I want it all—a husband, a home, kids. I can't be happy helping other people live their lives."
    It was a good thing that Angora withdrew a foot-long emery board from her purse and began sawing on her nails, because Roxann was speechless over the backhanded compliment. Everything Angora had said was true—she did chuck her education, work with scared women, move around, change jobs, live frugally, and was, for the most part, alone. And she did help other people live their lives. So why did a lifestyle that had once seemed noble and romantic sound downright bleak when someone else described it?
    And worse, Angora truly believed that her cousin had sacrificed a man, a home, and a family so that she could devote her life to others. But in truth, she was starting to feel resentful of her thankless job, and of the string of needy women who stood between her and her own happily-ever-after.
    Roxann went cold remembering the eerie message on her computer screen. She was a fake, going through the motions of benevolence with an empty heart. She was counting on the gratitude of the forlorn women she aided to fill the void in her gypsy life, which wasn't fair, or even reasonable.
    "Are you okay?" Angora asked. "You look a little green."
    "Still a little hung over," she lied.
    "Would you like for me to drive?"
    It had taken Angora eight attempts to get her driver's license. "No, I'm fine. Why don't you take a nap?" Now that the confrontation with Dee was over, Angora was limp, and yawning between every sentence. Plus Roxann wanted to be alone with her own thoughts—not a good sign ten miles down the highway on a proposed two-week road trip.
    "No... I want to stay awake," Angora said, but her voice was groggy. She put her purse behind her head and leaned back. Her eyelids fluttered. "So you don't fall asleep...at the—"
    The nose job took over and the snoring set in. Roxann shook her head and wondered again what she'd gotten herself into. And at the worst possible time. She adjusted the rearview mirror, alert for a tail, but few cars were on the neighborhood roads of Baton Rouge at this hour. Besides, even if Frank Cape followed her, he'd probably give up when he didn't find her at her father's.
    Her father...
    She'd never forgive herself if something happened to him because of her sleazy associations. She pulled into a drive-through and bought a large coffee, then punched in her father's number on her cell phone in the event he had cut his fishing trip short. But as she expected, his answering machine picked up, and she felt compelled to talk to him in person.
    When the teenager handed her coffee through the window, the hot liquid sloshed over the side, and the incident in the diner with Capistrano came to mind. If he hadn't come in that day, and if she hadn't been fired, she would've taken her normal lunch break to run home and drop off groceries or something, and might have been at the apartment when Frank Cape dropped by. She shivered. Not that she owed the detective anything for his interference.
    She sipped the coffee, checked the rearview mirror, and steered Goldie onto the access road leading to the interstate. Angora hadn't moved a muscle, unless you counted her snoring muscles. NPR was the best she could get on the old AM radio, so she settled in for a lively discussion on growing herbs. And after an hour's education on soil, sun, and plant selection, she was tempted to give up Rescue to grow rosemary and sage in her spare time. In fact, the placid announcers made it seem as if world peace could be achieved if everyone just pruned their peppermint periodically.
    At mid-morning her father finally answered his phone. Roxann hadn't realized just how worried she'd been until his telltale rasp rattled out over the line.
    "Hello?" He sounded winded, as if he had just walked in.
    Her heart swelled with a dozen emotions. "Hi, Dad."
    "Roxann—where are you? There's a policeman sitting in my driveway."
    "Did he tell you his name?"
    "Capistrano. Said you were in some kind of trouble."
    She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Dad."
    "Then why is he here?"
    "It's complicated, but he was out of line for following me."
    "Sherwood said you had somebody with you last night."
    "Angora."
    At the mention of her name, her cousin's snoring stopped and she lifted her head.