Love Can Be Murder

"Yes, definitely."
    Roxann laughed. "I told you that thing is broken."
    "Maybe not—maybe we're just coming up 'Yes, definitelys.' What would be so bad about meeting the person who fulfills us?"
    "I...need to focus on the road signs."
    Angora pointed to a banner strung across the road ahead of them, swaying in the waning daylight. "Little Rock Fall Festival, October tenth through the twenty-first. Oh, can we stop?"
    "Sure. I could stand to stretch my legs a little."
    "And I'm starving."
    "You have Frito crumbs on your chin."
    Several miles down the road, they entered the commercial and residential outskirts of Little Rock.
    "There's a sign for parking up ahead," Angora said, bouncing. "Oh, look at the crowd—and there's a carnival going on!"
    Tomorrow she was limiting Angora's sugar intake. Roxann pulled Goldie into the parking lot and backed into the space a parking attendant indicated. When she jumped down from the van, she found herself smiling in spite of the worries nagging the back of her brain. The scent of buttered popcorn floated on the warm night air, and organ music danced on a breeze. Families were chained together by their hands, with children straining in every direction. Roxann could feel the tension draining away. The snug black jeans and silky red tee felt alien, as well as the new hair and makeup, but she was enjoying the "disguise"—it made her feel freer somehow. Freer to have fun. With a jolt she realized she'd forgotten what it was like to have fun.
    Corn dogs and beer were first on Angora's list. Roxann indulged, too, even though she knew she'd probably regret it later. Next they rode the carousel and the Tilt-A-Whirl. Then Angora spotted a flight simulator and talked Roxann into going a round for the sake of the “piloting” item of her life list. Angora was so dizzy afterward she needed to be helped from the ride. Still, she insisted she was going to learn to fly a plane someday.
    Roxann couldn't help but notice that Angora's confidence grew in relation to their distance from Dee. God only knew what evil things that woman had done to her daughter, and how the trauma would manifest itself. It was good to see her cousin smiling and laughing, playing children's games and buying silly souvenirs. She fairly glowed. It helped that because of her crown, the locals thought she was some kind of celebrity. When the buxom lady at the cotton-candy booth discovered that Angora was titled, she asked her to help judge the Little Miss pageant that was being held on the festival grounds. Angora was ecstatic. Roxann took advantage of the opportunity to break away and make a few phone calls. They agreed to meet back at the van in an hour.
    Roxann first suspected that she was being followed as she passed the Ferris wheel. Call it a hunch, but a set of heavy footsteps behind her were too measured, too purposeful. She stopped to buy a small fountain drink, and the footsteps she'd isolated stopped, too. All her defenses went on alert. She turned quickly and scanned the area over the top of her cup, but saw nothing suspicious. She exhaled in relief—her imagination was getting the better of her.
    The fairgrounds were thick with teenagers and the air smoky from firecrackers. Blinking colored lights on the rides cast a fluorescent glow on the faces of onlookers. Thrilling screams from the roller coaster overhead reached a crescendo, then faded as the machine roared past. The funnel-cake booth was doing a brisk business, emitting sticky-sweet aromas. A child's laugh pierced the air, and Roxann couldn't help but smile. When had she turned into a suspicious, cynical woman?
    She headed toward a group of picnic tables near the exit where the noise level would be low enough to make phone calls. She wanted to check in with her supervisor, and call her father again. And she'd been thinking that even Dreadful Dee deserved to know that Angora was safe. A couple of young rednecks walked by and whistled at her appreciatively. She didn't react, but at the ridiculous lift of her spirits, realized that she'd never, ever been whistled at. In fact, in college she probably would have belted the guys. Age changed a person's viewfinder.
    She selected an empty picnic table, used a napkin to brush off leftover popcorn, and sat down facing the crowd. The winner of the turkey-calling contest was announced, and Billy Conley's mother could pick him up at the Lost and Found tent at her earliest convenience, please. Roxann rummaged in her