Love Can Be Murder

worry—that cute hunky detective probably scared the crap out of Cape."
    At the mention of Capistrano, she scowled. He wasn't cute, he was... noticeable. And he wasn't hunky, he was... bulky. But he did have an uncanny sense of timing. And maybe he had scared Cape—for now. But Frank Cape would be back. Or he'd just wait until she returned to Biloxi.
    Then she pursed her mouth—perhaps she wouldn't return to Biloxi. It wasn't as if she had a gaggle of friends waiting for her, or even a job, for that matter. In fact, she'd bet that no one even noticed she was gone. Once Capistrano's partner recovered, she'd certainly drop off his radar.
    "I'd like to check my voice recorder first," she said, padding to the living room. She found a base unit for a cordless phone on a glass table, but no handset there, or in the tidy, but cramped blue kitchen. Nell's bedroom and office were across the hall, but Roxann didn't want to pry behind the closed door, opting to wait until her cell phone recharged. The highly processed foods she'd been sharing with Angora had made her thirsty, though, so she peeked into a kitchen cabinet in search of a water glass. Instead, she stumbled onto a stash of medical supplies. A few prescription bottles rolled out onto the counter. Antibiotics. Antivirals. She recalled suddenly that Nell was a bit of a hypochondriac—another manifestation of loneliness.
    From out of nowhere, a cough emerged from her throat, and her future hit her like a ton of bricks. She had to get out of there. "Let's go, Angora."
    They walked the short distance to the campus entrance. The exercise felt good to her unused muscles, but her new boots still weren't broken in. Considering her new duds and hairstyle, she thought she'd feel young again when they reached the university grounds. Instead she felt exposed as a middle-aged has-been, and downright light-headed from the deluge of forgotten impressions: the pleasing mix of period architecture, the throngs of majestic trees, and the wind barreling down the streets as if propelled by the energy of the young bodies. Although the chance that she'd see Carl on the sidewalk was remote, her gaze darted over each face, poised to see him at every turn. Perhaps she should have called him...
    "It looks smaller than I remember," Angora offered, pivoting her head.
    Roxann agreed. Even the students seemed smaller, compact and waiflike. And so impossibly young. It was a warm Wednesday afternoon, and the little people streamed in all directions over sidewalks and grassy banks with purpose and synchronization. They looked so happy and so unburdened. Had she ever been that happy?
    "Let's go this way," Angora said, pointing to a sidewalk that would take them up and away from the direction Roxann wanted to take—through the oldest part of campus, and coincidentally, past the building where Carl's office was still housed, according to the address in the alumni newsletter.
    "Okay," she agreed, chastising herself. She'd see him in due time.
    As they walked, Angora pointed to a nondescript redbrick building on the crest of a wooded hill. "There's our old dorm."
    "Uh-huh. Probably coed now."
    "You think? Wow, I bet no one leaves here a virgin anymore."
    Roxann smiled her agreement. Students surged by them, laughing and poking each other, lopsided from the bulging backpacks on their shoulders. Earbuds bounded. Despite the brisk temperature, lots of skin was on display—navels, thighs, and oh, the cleavage. And from all the touching that was going on, hormones did indeed appear to be running amuck. A tall athletic guy winked at Angora and turned around to walk backward as he perused her up and down.
    "It's the crown," Angora insisted as she gave him a little finger-wave. "This is going to be fun."
    "He thinks you're a teacher."
    But from the glow on Angora's face, she definitely had plans for her virginity to die a quick death. Roxann bit her lower lip—she hoped the event would be all her cousin thought it would be. And that the lucky guy was of legal age.
    Yellow banners on every lamppost announced Homecoming week and shouted, "Be there!" in frantic letters.
    She was there, but feeling a little out of sorts. Didn't someone say you could never go home? South Bend was as close to home as she'd ever felt To realize that her four years here had been replaced by thousands of other footprints and term papers and first loves made her feel very insignificant. They walked higher and higher, where the foot