Love Can Be Murder

sighed, the dramatic sigh of someone under the influence trying to gather their thoughts. "I have to tell you...everything."
    "What, Elise?"
    "Not now, I'm not thinking very good. Well. I'm not thinking very well. Tomorrow...meet me at the chapel tomorrow at noon. And don't tell anyone."
    The woman had trouble hanging up, but finally the dial tone sounded. Roxann hung up slowly, wondering if her ex-roommate would even remember making the call. It was just like her, staging a theatrical apology. Elise lived for drama. Her stories about confronting married men who had dated and dumped her were hair-raising. Elise had issues.
    But then, didn't everyone?
    She must have dozed because she was awakened by a small rough tongue licking her chin—lapping up traces of the chocolate malt, no doubt. She shooed Chester and sat up, noting that Angora still hadn't returned. The clock radio read 2:15 a.m . Plenty of time to get home after the clubs closed. Frustration and anxiety plucked at her—she didn't want to think about what her cousin might be doing with Carl. What if Capistrano was right—what if Carl was a philanderer? She doubted if Angora was equipped to lose her virginity on a one-night stand.
    She rubbed her face and made a quick decision. Carl's house was only a twenty-minute walk—she could go there and put her mind to rest and be back before anyone noticed.
    She undressed in the dark and changed into the jeans she had on earlier, and tennis shoes. A black hooded sweatshirt would keep her from being too noticeable. At the last minute, she remembered her pepper spray and stuffed the can into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. Feeling like a criminal, she slipped out the back door and stole around the side of the house. The streets were busier than she'd expected—Homecoming had brought out the rowdy in everyone, it seemed. She decided to kill two birds with one stone and jog, which would also help explain why she was out at this time of night in case anyone saw her. She felt like an idiot. She was an idiot. They weren't at Carl's house, and Angora wasn't doing things to him that she'd marked with a highlighter pen in that making-love-to-a-man book.
    A half-mile later, she was cursing herself for forgetting a flashlight. The ground was uneven and muddy, the streets dark and sinister. Lord, if Frank Cape wanted her, he could have her now and no one would be the wiser. Thoroughly spooked, she kept looking over her shoulder, but no one emerged from the shadows to gobble her up. The road conditions forced her to slow her pace, but she reached the street Carl lived on in fifteen minutes. The trees were taller and the houses more crowded than she remembered, and the cars parked in the driveways were dated. She stopped at the end of the quiet street to catch her breath, then walked on the sidewalk until Carl's ranch-style home came into sight. His old boxy black Volvo was recognizable in the shadows, still in good shape.
    The lights were on in at least two rooms, meaning someone was home, unless Carl had left them on. She crept closer, keeping an eye on her surroundings, and feeling a little nauseous. But her need to prove Capistrano wrong kept her moving forward, coupled with her need to prove to herself that Carl was the man she thought he was.

Chapter Eighteen

    ANGORA CLAWED AT THE RASH on her neck and chest—at this rate she'd never get laid. After plying her with good food and working her up with close-body dancing, Carl Seger had brought her back to his home to show her every first edition of every boring book in his stupid library. She knew he found her attractive because he'd been touching her all night. At the moment, though, he was stroking the cover of a green leather-bound volume.
    "And this one I bought at a garage sale while I was vacationing in the Hamptons—"
    "Carl," she said with a seductive smile. "I've seen every room in your house except the bedroom."
    His eyebrows shot up. "Well, I...didn't think this was that kind of date. After all, the auction was for charity."
    She squinted, trying to figure out if she'd just been insulted. "I didn't pay two thousand dollars for a lecture on old books."
    He smiled. "You didn't?"
    "No. I paid two thousand dollars to lose my virginity."
    The book fell to the floor with a thud. "You're a virgin?"
    She nodded, glad to finally have his attention.
    He moved closer to her and gave her a deep, grinding kiss that allowed all the important parts to make contact. When