Love Can Be Murder

wonderful," Dr. Oney said, squeezing her hands.
    "So do you," she said, applying light pressure to the woman's cold hands. Dr. Oney was a bit past fifty, Roxann calculated. And no family, save the cats she took in. She had once told Roxann that the people at Rescue were her family. With a start, Roxann acknowledged that she was looking at herself in twenty years. And while living in a patio home just off campus wearing hand-knit sweaters covered with cat hair held a certain literary appeal, it seemed fantastically lonely.
    "Meet Angora Ryder, my cousin. We graduated in the same class. Angora, I'm sure you remember Dr. Nell Oney."
    "It's nice to see you," the professor said, shaking Angora's hand. Then she squinted and looked back and forth. "You two do bear a striking resemblance—except for the coloring, of course."
    "And the crown," Roxann added dryly.
    "Dr. Oney, I hope you don't mind me tagging along," Angora said. "Roxann rescued me from a little scrape."
    "I don't mind," she said. "And call me 'Nell.' Let me show you girls where you can put your things. The guest room has twin beds."
    They traipsed after her, dodging four—no, five—cats. Angora sneezed a thousand times before they set their things down on outdated red comforters in the tiny guest room. The walls were lined with shelves of worn paperbacks—proof positive, Roxann conceded, of those long, lonely years stretching ahead of her. In fact, didn't she immediately upon relocating to a new city acquire a library card?
    "I have two classes to teach this afternoon, so I'd better be off," Nell said from the doorway. "Do you need anything before I go?"
    Roxann wanted to ask about Carl, but bit her tongue and shook her head. "We can't thank you enough."
    "No need, really. But just so that I know, this Cape fellow who's been following you, what does he look like?"
    "Tall, thin, rednecky. He was wearing camouflage when he caught up with me in Little Rock."
    "Do you have a weapon?"
    "Pepper spray. But hopefully he's given up by now."
    Nell nodded. "Still, you can't be too careful. Do you two have plans tonight?"
    She exchanged looks with Angora, and her cheeks grew warm. "Well, uh—"
    "We're going to the bachelor auction," Angora cut in. "Want to come?"
    Nell laughed and shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it, but maybe I will. Just to watch."
    They made plans to meet back at the house, then Nell left.
    "Did she seem old to you?" Angora asked.
    "We seem old to me."
    "I remember her looking more, I don't know—more liberated. Cool. Braless."
    "People change, buy underwear." She rummaged in her purse, then frowned. "Have you seen my life list?"
    Angora wasn't paying attention. "Do you think she's happy?"
    "I suppose so. Have you seen my list?"
    "She doesn't even drive a car—don't you think that's kind of backward?"
    "She marches to the beat of a different drum. Angora, have you seen my list?"
    "No. When did you have it last?"
    "I can't remember—maybe when we were in Springfield?" Where Angora had blown the afternoon with a travel agent planning the round-the-world cruise on her life list as if she were launching next week. Sometimes the woman seemed to be on another plane of reality. "Or Bloomington?" Where they'd forgone the tattoo artist's needle in favor of ornate henna tattoos around their ankles so Angora could strike another item from her list.
    "I thought you didn't care about that silly old list," Angora teased.
    "I...don't." But there was something bothersome about misplacing a list that had outstanding items on it. Since you couldn't possibly remember everything on it, you were, of course, relieved of the obligation. Still, it seemed like...cheating.
    I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.
    She shivered. Knowing that someone was looking over your shoulder had a way of making you evaluate your life, your decisions. Had she made good ones? Bad ones? She checked her watch—it was 6 p.m. in London.
    "Come on," Angora said. "Let's unpack later—I want to cruise campus."
    "I don't think people use that phrase anymore."
    Angora grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door. "You look a little peaked—are you more worried about that Cape guy than you're letting on?"
    She didn't answer, because in truth, she was more worried about seeing Carl again—how petty was that? A dangerous criminal wanted to extract information out of her, and she was concerned about how her old flame would react to seeing her again. What if he didn't recognize her?
    "Don't