Love Can Be Murder

going to die for it.
    Everything faded to brown, then black.

Chapter Nineteen

    CAPISTRANO WAVED HER life list and laughed at her. "Your professor is a dirty old man... a dirty old man...a dirty old man."
    Roxann woke with a start and sat straight up in the dark. Her hairline was moist and clammy. The air in the small guest room was chilly because she'd closed the door, but she was sweating because she'd fallen asleep in the clothes she'd worn on her shameful errand. Thank goodness sanity had kicked in at the last moment—Angora and Carl were consenting adults, and if they wanted to engage in a physical relationship, she had no hold on either one of them.
    She glanced over at Angora's unslept-in bed. And it appeared they had done just that.
    The digital clock read five forty-five, and the house was quiet. Dragging her hand down her face, she swung her leg over the edge of the bed, and switched on the nightstand lamp. Mud spattered the legs of her jeans, and a few feet away sat her caked gym shoes. She winced, and stood, brushing bits of dried dirt from the aged comforter. Thank goodness Nell's floors were hardwood, but she wanted to get any tracks cleaned up before her host awakened. She picked up the mucky shoes and slipped out the door into the dim hallway. Dawn was breaking, sending fingers of light into the house. She moved silently toward the kitchen. Nell's bedroom door was closed, and Roxann suspected she was sleeping more these days, especially since she wasn't feeling well.
    To save Nell the trouble, Roxann started the coffeemaker. Chester startled her when he appeared from nowhere to do a quick figure eight around her ankles. She stood at the counter for a few seconds wondering what she would say to Angora when she returned from Carl's. Should she chastise her or congratulate her? She certainly couldn't blame her for being attracted to him. Funny, but this morning she didn't feel as betrayed as she might have expected. But she did feel foolish for thinking that she and Carl would simply pick up where they'd left off. How pathetically naive.
    She unrolled a wad of paper towels and stole out to the back porch to clean her shoes, holding the storm door until the latch caught so it wouldn't wake Nell. Chester joined her. It was a beautiful October morning, dewy and brisk. The smooth floorboards of the covered porch were cold beneath her bare feet, but she didn't mind. Nell had quite a little garden going in the back, and Roxann was reminded of the radio program on herb gardening—another hobby she had to look forward to in her spinsterhood. She sat down on the steps to clean her shoes, then froze when a groan sounded behind her.
    Roxann stood and whirled in one motion. A few feet away on the porch, Angora lay asleep on a chaise, curled up in a rug and covered with dew.
    Roxann rolled her eyes and walked over to shake her. "Angora. Angora, wake up."
    Angora's eyes flew open, and she cried out.
    "Shhh! Nell's still asleep. What are you doing out here?"
    Angora burst into tears.
    "What on earth is wrong with you?" Roxann peeled back the stiff rug and helped her to sit up. Her blond hair and red dress were disheveled, her stockings torn, and her shoes missing.
    "Oh, Roxann, it was awful," she sobbed.
    Dark bruises covered her pale skin from jawline to collarbone. Alarm rocketed through Roxann. "What happened to your neck?"
    Angora touched the discolored area. "He—" Her sobs escalated until Roxann shook her—hard.
    "Angora, calm down and tell me what happened."
    "C-Carl. He was ch-choking me."
    "What? Why was he choking you?"
    She shook her head. "I don't know—we were going to have sex, and—I'm sorry, Roxann, I shouldn't have done it." More tears and finally, hiccups.
    She inhaled deeply to calm her own thumping heart. "It's okay, Angora. Did he hurt you?"
    "I... think I passed out. I don't remember anything until I woke up alone in his bed." She swallowed hard and wiped her nose with her hand. "I just got out of there as fast as I could."
    Roxann put her hands to her temples in an effort to assimilate the bits of information. The thought of Carl hurting anyone or anything was incomprehensible, but Angora, flighty as she was, wasn't faking her terror, or those dreadful bruises. Had she somehow provoked him to attack her? It didn't matter—the authorities had to be notified.
    "Come inside," she said. "We're calling the police."
    "No," Angora pleaded, her hands fisted in Roxann's shirt. "If anyone finds