Love Can Be Murder

family of six bustled in and ordered cones all around, the smallest ones barely able to see into the display case of forty-two flavors. A smile pulled at her mouth as she remembered the joy of handing a cone of blue or pink ice cream to a toddler. Ice cream could cajole anyone out of a bad mood—except her, it seemed.
    "So, Detective, what does your family think about your being on the road like this?"
    He scratched his head. "My parents haven't kept tabs on me for a while now." Then he smiled, which caught her off guard. "Oh, wait, you're asking if I'm married."
    "Just making conversation."
    "No, never been. You?"
    "No."
    "Not all men are as bad as the thugs you've dealt with in the Rescue program."
    She pursed her mouth.
    "That subject is off-limits, too, I suppose. Okay. So what do you plan to do once you get back to Biloxi? For a living, I mean."
    "Why do you want to know?"
    He spooned up a last hefty mound of pistachio ice cream. "I feel bad about getting you fired, thought I might help you find a job. Something in law enforcement, or maybe in the courthouse."
    Courthouse? "You've been talking to my father."
    "Did he want you to go to law school?"
    She nodded.
    "Why didn't you?"
    She shrugged. "It seemed like an indirect route to contributing to society."
    "You don't strike me as someone who would have chased ambulances." He cocked his head. "Maybe a...prosecuting attorney."
    She stopped mid-sip. One item on her life list that she'd written under the influence of cheap marijuana. She managed a laugh. "I don't think so. Thanks for the offer to help, Detective, but I'm not going back to Biloxi."
    "Oh." He mulled the news, then pushed the ice-cream bowl away. "Where are you moving?"
    She shrugged.
    "Here? With that Dr. Carl guy that you're so ga-ga over?"
    Roxann lifted an eyebrow. "Ga-ga. Now there's a word I would have bet wasn't in your vocabulary."
    Suddenly his face turned serious. "The guy's a player, Roxann."
    "What?"
    "Your professor—he's a dirty old man who likes to nail young women."
    Roxann went still. "That's a filthy thing to say. You don't even know him."
    "I don't have to—there's one in every college in this country, from the Ivy Leagues down to the rinky-dinks."
    "One what?"
    "One horndog professor who makes it with all the busty girls in his classes."
    Disgusted, Roxann shook her head. "You don't know what you're talking about."
    "Oh, no? I overheard two girls at the bachelor auction trading stories about the man, and they weren't G-rated."
    "You're making that up."
    "No, ma'am."
    She gestured helplessly in the air. "Then they were lying."
    "Did you think you were the only girl he was doing when you were here?"
    She lunged to her feet, and his jacket fell to the tiled floor. "Take me back."
    "Look, I shouldn't have said that—"
    "Now, Detective. Or I'll walk."
    He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then slowly pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his jacket. "Whatever you say."
    She walked out ahead of him, back straight. The ugly things he'd said kept going through her mind. Sure, Carl had lots of admirers, but he would never...he hadn't tried to take advantage of her, and heaven knows she was so crazy about him, she would have been easy pickings.
    No, it wasn't true. He was a deacon, and a decent man whose job and position meant everything to him. He was human, and she assumed he wasn't a monk, but if he wanted girlfriends, he wouldn't have to dip into the student population.
    Capistrano opened the door and offered her a hand up. She ignored him and struggled, finally falling into the seat. He closed the door, and walked around the front of the truck. Big, slow, confident. The man was too arrogant for words.
    He opened the door and swung up into his seat, then closed the door and sat in silence while the clock in the dashboard ticked off several loud seconds. "I'm sorry. Everyone has someone in their past they put on a pedestal. I didn't mean to insult you. I could be wrong."
    "You are."
    "I hope so," he said, then cranked the engine. They didn't speak on the way back. He found a country radio station and occasionally whistled under his breath. She couldn't wait to get away from him.
    When he pulled up to Nell's, he reached over to open the door for her, then hesitated. "I guess I've blown any chance I had with you."
    She stared, incredulous. "You never had a chance with me."
    He sighed. "It's the scampi, isn't it? I knew I should have stayed away from the garlic."
    She fumbled for the