Love Can Be Murder

wanting noises, and she'd felt flush with power. Then he was pushing her head down, down to his fly, which had somehow come undone. She didn't have time to think about the techniques Roxann had taught her on the tube of toothpaste—it all happened too quickly. One minute she was on the verge of suffocating while he gasped and moved her head up and down on him, and the next minute she was gagging. He had gone so limp and so quiet, she was afraid he'd had a heart attack. But when she'd spit out the offending goo, and it landed on his expensive shoe, he had recovered rather quickly.
    "You'll get your passing grade," he'd said brusquely, then stood and helped her straighten her clothes.
    Shocked, she realized he thought she'd taken his class four times because she was too dumb to pass it, not because she wanted to be near him. She'd opened her mouth to explain, but he'd shushed her.
    "This must be our little secret, yours and mine, or you could get into a lot of trouble." Like a sheep, she'd nodded. Then he'd opened the office door, given her a little shove through it, and closed it behind her. That night in her bed she'd suddenly remembered one of the things he'd murmured during the deed.
    "Roxann."
    He'd noticed the resemblance, and although he had no idea they were related, he'd been thinking about Roxann the entire time. After that, Carl had ignored her completely. But the real slap in the face had been the C she'd received in the class.
    Angora blinked and drained the glass of sour chardonnay. She'd given the man a blowjob in his office, and he hadn't even recognized her today. He'd only had eyes for Roxann, and if her cousin was telling the truth, they'd never even fooled around. Once again, the spoils went to Roxann.
    She returned to the bar for another drink. While she stood in line, the audience suddenly burst into applause. She turned to see Dr. Carl Seger himself at the microphone, waving for quiet. The man was splendid.
    "There is a person in the room," he said, "whose name came up for the Distinguished Alumni award for dedicating her life to helping others. But her volunteer work is of such a confidential nature, the board decided to forgo the honor lest the nomination attract publicity that would be detrimental to the programs she serves."
    He sought Roxann in the audience, and Angora knew what was coming next.
    "But to our great delight, the nominee in question found her way back to South Bend this week. Without further ado, the board would like to recognize Roxann Beadleman for a decade of selfless work with abused women. Please come forward, Roxann, and accept this token of our admiration for your many good deeds. You truly embody the spirit of an Alumni Homecoming Queen."
    Angora couldn't believe her ears. She watched as Dr. Carl lifted a tiara from a wooden box—a large, magnificent crown with dangling crystals and a point in the front. It made the one she was wearing look like a toy. She drank deeply.
    She had to hand it to her cousin, though—she knew how to work the crowd. Roxann protested until the audience of a thousand or so were whipped into a frenzy. By the time she got on stage, they were riveted to every word. Worse, she looked great, passing over the short red dress that Angora had picked out for her in favor of a plain long black skirt, black tank, and a long lime-green scarf around her neck. A perfect foil for the crown, which Dr. Carl set on her head like an adoring king.
    "Thank you," Roxann said, holding the crown with one hand.
    It was probably heavy, Angora thought miserably. Crowns were supposed to be of a weight symbolic to the responsibility of the title. All of hers were about as heavy as a potato.
    "I'm stunned and honored," Roxann said. "And I don't deserve this recognition..."
    Angora smirked into her glass and watched her cousin wrap the entire room around her little finger. Good, sweet, honest Roxann who had dedicated her life to others—not because it made her feel good, but because it made her feel superior. Yep, that was why. Dee had been right about Roxann all along. Everyone had a price, and she'd found Roxann's when they were eighteen. Wonder what the audience would think if she jumped up on stage and made that little revelation? And while she was up there, she'd announce that Dr. Carl had a botched circumcision.
    But she couldn't very well do either without incriminating herself. And she needed that job in Chicago now more than ever. It was her ticket out of