Love Can Be Murder

that thing?
    "In my truck," Capistrano supplied.
    Good grief, she'd misplaced everything last night. Including her good sense. Why else would she have run over to Carl's like some lovestruck stalker? She froze. Years of working with obsessive people had rubbed off. Dear God.
    Jaffey toyed with the pencil. "Here's what I think—I think you jogged over there for a peek and found Dr. Seger choking your cousin for whatever reason. You pulled your scarf out of your pocket and killed him. Maybe you didn't mean to, but it happened."
    "That's absurd," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't kill Carl." She choked on the last word, then recovered. "I couldn't have."
    "Will you take a lie detector test?"
    "Absolutely."
    "So if we believe your story," Warner said, "you didn't kill him, but your cousin certainly could have."
    He had vocalized her own fears—especially considering what Nell had told her about the Tammy Paulen incident—but she tried to keep a poker face. "I have a difficult time believing that Angora could do something like that." But Capistrano was looking at her strangely.
    "Do you know anyone else who could have killed him?" Jaffey asked.
    "No, but I don't know much about Carl's life. Talk to Nell Oney and some of the other professors."
    "We did. By the way, she had access to your scarf, didn't she?"
    Roxann narrowed her eyes. "Since I don't know where I lost it, I couldn't say. But Nell Oney is one of the few truly good people I know. She and Carl were friends. She would never hurt anyone."
    "The woman is ill," Capistrano said. "Barely strong enough to turn a deadbolt, let alone bring down a man the size of Seger."
    "The same for Angora," she added.
    A knock on the door interrupted them, and a female officer stuck her head in. "The Ryder woman's lawyer is here."
    "I'll be right there," Jaffey said. When the door closed, he shook his finger at Roxann. "We'll need your clothes and your fingerprints. And don't leave town." He looked at Capistrano. "Can I trust you to keep an eye on her?"
    "Sure thing."
    The detective looked at her and she had the distinct feeling of a hen being handed over to a chicken hawk.

Chapter Twenty-one

    ANGORA LOOKED UP and dubiously shook hands with the man who introduced himself as her lawyer. Mike Brown was a short chunky man with curly brown hair and glasses that wouldn't stay up on his nose. He looked all of nineteen and was dressed like a farmer—smelled like one, too.
    "Please excuse my appearance," he said in a boyish voice as he sat down heavily. "I was working my compost pile when my phone rang."
    She had no idea what compost was, but the man must have some means if he had a pile of it. At the moment, however, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Carl was dead. Dead. Dead. The more the word revolved in her head, the less it even seemed like a word, much less one that was so... final. Dead, just like Tammy Paulen. And these visions of her strangling Carl—were they real? Or had hearing the graphic details of his death put them there? Her head was too full to think.
    Her lawyer pulled out a pad of paper and went through three pens from his briefcase before he found one with ink. "Here we go. Now Ms. Ryder, have you spoken with anyone about the murder?"
    She shook her head and massaged the pain just beneath her breastbone. A foul-tasting blend of indigestion and grief and guilt. She'd already been sick twice, once before they left Dr. Oney's and once on the ride over in the police car. Good God Almighty, when Dee found out what had happened, she'd have her birth certificate changed. And if everything unraveled, then she might as well go to prison for all the life she'd have.
    "Ms. Ryder?"
    "Yes?"
    "I asked if you'd like something—coffee, soda?"
    What she wanted was to sit on the floor and cry like a baby. "N-no, thank you."
    He cleared his throat. "Ms. Ryder, do you understand that you're a suspect in the murder of Carl Seger?"
    She squinted. "How old are you?"
    He blushed. "Thirty-five. I know I look young, and I did just pass the bar, but I got a late start."
    Boy, did she know all about that. "How do you know Dr. Oney?"
    "She's an old friend of the family, encouraged me to go to law school."
    "Mr. Brown, I don't have a lot of money." She doubted if she could get a refund on the money she'd bid for Carl, and she couldn't go to her parents.
    "That's okay," he said cheerfully. "I'm doing pro bono work on the side until I get my soybean crop harvested."
    Her attorney