Love Can Be Murder

enormous brown eyes surrounded by long, long lashes. Those patented cheekbones and a straight, slender nose. Naturally red lips, full and curvy, a small, strong chin. Features so clear and elegant, framed by thick short bangs and a fall of dark hair. She might have been a movie star from the fifties.
    "You're...gorgeous," Angora murmured.
    Roxann laughed sardonically and stood to brush her clothes. "Thanks for all the goodies, Angora, but we'd better hit the road."
    Her cousin was oblivious to her looks, always had been. Frustration clogged Angora's throat. If she had been blessed with chiseled features and a willowy figure, she would have been Miss America for sure. She reached up to touch her crown, then remembered she had left it in the van. Roxann probably thought she was vain, but she couldn't help it—the crowns were markers of her few accomplishments. Sometimes at night when demons kept her awake, she would remove one of the sparkling tiaras from the revolving case her mother had had specially built and wear it to bed, propping herself up on pillows so she wouldn't damage the delicate stones. She never failed to dream good dreams with the weight of winning on her head.
    "You're welcome," she said as she paid Steve for their treatments, plus makeup kits, skin-care regimes, perfumes, lotions, shampoos, hairspray, blow dryer, diffuser, hot rollers, curling iron, and a half-dozen other beauty necessities with the borrowed AmEx card. Take that, Trenton. "Do you think we'll make it to South Bend by Wednesday?"
    Roxann startled her by pulling her away from the counter rather urgently. "Lower your voice," she whispered.
    Angora frowned. "Why?"
    "Because—" Her cousin seemed flustered. "Because we're traveling alone—we can't be too careful."
    Excitement bubbled in her chest. "Does this have anything to do with the detective who's looking for you?"
    "No. Let's go."
    "Okay," she said in response to Roxann's sharp tone, then followed her back to the counter where they collected their many bags. But Roxann seemed nervous, glancing at her watch, then out the window into the parking lot. She must really be getting worked up about seeing Dr. Carl again. Then an amazing thought struck her—was he the reason Roxann had never married?
    She stared at Roxann's preoccupied profile and pursed her mouth—she'd found her cousin's weakness. Wonder of wonders...Roxann was human after all.

Chapter Twelve

    ROXANN TRIED TO KEEP the passage between her throat and nose closed to duplicate the speaker's pronunciation on the tape. " Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf, dix ."
    "You'll be fluent in no time," Angora offered through a mouthful of Fritos. She'd been on a junk food binge since this morning's McDonald's biscuit-and-gravy breakfast. With Frito-greasy fingers, she turned pages of a faded copy of How to Make Love to a Man that she'd fished out of Roxann's box of mementos.
    Roxann switched off the tape, then rolled her tight shoulders. She hadn't slept very well last night, even though Angora had spared no expense in securing a luxurious room. The fact that she was unaccustomed to a good mattress and down pillows probably contributed to her sleeplessness, and her conscience didn't seem to have an off switch. If she gave up her work with Rescue, wouldn't she be no better than people who murmured about social problems over crab puffs at dinner parties, but thought the solutions lay with politicians or organized religion, or something else that had nothing whatsoever to do with them? And worse, wouldn't she be admitting that her father was right?
    Good grief, she was tired of thinking. Maybe that's why Angora didn't mind letting other people make decisions for her—it was less stressful than knowing you had no one to blame but yourself if your life turned out dismally. Roxann bit into her lower lip. Or perhaps her expectations were simply too high. No one was entitled to happiness every waking moment, were they?
    "Did you say something?" Angora asked.
    Had she spoken aloud? "No."
    "I thought you said something. Where are we?"
    "A few miles outside Little Rock."
    "Arkansas?"
    "Right." She was taking a rather winding route toward South Bend under the guise of humoring Angora on her life-list quest. This morning they had stopped at a YMCA so she could give Angora a crash swimming lesson. Considering the fact that Angora was afraid of putting her head under, didn't want to get her hair wet, and refused to hold her