Love Can Be Murder

out, I'll just die."
    How many times had she seen abused women retreat out of embarrassment? "Be sensible, Angora. If Carl hurt you, he has to answer for it." In fact, she might have to take a swing at him herself. Capistrano's warning rang in her ears.
    "But I said something to make him angry."
    "What?"
    "I can't tell you," she shrieked, thrashing her head back and forth.
    Roxann studied her cousin's tearful face, the wild-eyed borderline hysteria. Now wasn't the time to talk. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
    Angora relented tearfully, gathering her purse and leaning heavily on Roxann while they maneuvered through the back door. "I want to go home," she sobbed.
    "I'll take you home today," Roxann promised. "As soon as we get this mess straightened out. Let me get my phone so I can take pictures."
    "Pictures?"
    "For court, if it goes that far."
    Angora's eyes flew wide. "I can't have my picture taken looking like this."
    "Angora, this isn't a contest for Most Photogenic. This is serious. I know what I'm doing." For once.
    Suddenly she became aware of voices from the living room, male and female. Nell's? When a scream rang out, Roxann released Angora and ran to the living room. Two policemen stood in the doorway, and Nell sat on the couch in her robe, a stricken expression on her face.
    "Nell, what's wrong?"
    "Are you—" one of the policemen asked, then consulted a small notebook. "Roxann Beadleman and Angora Ryder?"
    "Yes," she said. Angora hung back, looking like a caged animal.
    "Then you'll both need to come with us down to the station."
    Roxann squinted. "If this is about what Carl did to Angora—"
    "Carl's dead," Nell cried.
    Horror oozed over Roxann. "What?" She shook her head at the policemen. "There must be some kind of mistake."
    "No mistake, miss. Dr. Seger was found dead in his home this morning by the paper boy."
    She reached for the back of the couch for support. "Was it some kind of accident? Heart attack?"
    "Murder," the cop said curtly.
    Her knees buckled, and behind her, Angora whimpered.
    "Which is why," the policeman said, unsmiling, "you ladies need to come down to the station."
    She closed her eyes at the obvious implication—everyone at the auction last night knew Angora had won the date with Carl. They wouldn't have had to make too many inquiries to track down her cousin. Snatches of recent troubling conversations with Angora raced through her head, along with her father's revelation that their great-aunt was schizophrenic. Angora had admitted that Carl had choked her—could she have killed him in self-defense? It was too much for Roxann's shell-shocked brain to process at the moment.
    "Don't say a word, Angora," she warned. "Not until you've spoken with a lawyer."
    One of the cops angled his head. "You might want to call one for yourself, Ms. Beadleman."
    She frowned. "Why?"
    "Because Dr. Seger was strangled with a lime-green scarf. Sound familiar?"

Chapter Twenty

    "HELLO?"
    She'd obviously awakened Capistrano from a dead sleep. "Um, hi. This is Roxann. Beadleman."
    He grunted and sheets rustled in the background. "Did Cape show up?"
    "No. At least not that I know of."
    He sighed in relief. "Did you change your mind about something?"
    The drowsy amusement in his voice irritated her—the man thought she was calling to invite herself over for a little early-morning tryst? " No, Detective, I didn't change my mind about anything." She winced and forced the words from her throat. "I n-need your help."
    His rusty laugh rumbled over the line. "Oh, now you need my help. What is it—car trouble? Low on cash?"
    "Carl Seger was murdered last night. I'm at the police station."
    More sheet rustling. "What? Are you a suspect?"
    "He was strangled with my scarf. Will you come?" She counted to three, prepared for him to tell her he didn't want to get involved.
    "I'm already there."
    The resolute click was comforting—the man was an arrogant ass, but right now, with four police officers staring at her, she needed an arrogant ass who was on her side.
    "Was that your lawyer?" one of them asked. Detective Warner, she recalled. Good cop.
    "I don't need a lawyer," she told him. "Where's my cousin?"
    "In the next room," another officer said—Jaffey, bad cop. "Bawling her eyes out."
    "Can I go to her?"
    "Why, so you can synch up your stories?"
    She frowned. "No, because she's scared out of her wits."
    "She should be." He leaned forward, his eyes menacing. "Both of you should be."
    Roxann chewed on her