Love Can Be Murder

update on Angora Ryder, please?"
    The moon-faced woman looked at her suspiciously. "Is she the lady the police brought in?"
    "Yes, but she's not under arrest."
    "Just a moment." The woman picked up the phone and lazily punched in a number, punctuating every movement with a sigh. Roxann wanted to strangle her, then quickly amended her thought in light of the circumstances. Poor Carl. God, what a mess they'd stepped into—maybe even created, although she couldn't quite get her mind around the idea of Angora murdering Carl. Still, his handprints were on her neck, so even if he hadn't planned to hurt her, he might have triggered a violent response in her.
    She'd give anything to have stayed in Biloxi after the break-in, maybe hid out in a hotel. Instead, she'd allowed that message on her computer to unleash old worries that had hovered just under the surface for years. What was the saying about liars—their punishment was not that they couldn't be believed, but that they couldn't believe anyone else. The deception that she and Angora had created years ago had affected them both more than they could ever have imagined, shaping relationships with people they should have been close to, but couldn't be.
    Roxann turned her head and looked at Capistrano, jammed into a space half his size. A little girl with sagging pigtails walked over and handed him a doll. He smiled and pretended to have a conversation with the doll before handing it back to her. The child gave him a shy grin and galloped off.
    His smile lingered even after he made eye contact with Roxann across the room. She expected him to be embarrassed that she'd caught him in such an unguarded moment, but he didn't look away. In fact, his gaze traveled down her body in a leisurely fashion, combing over the clothes he'd loaned her to replace the ones the police sealed in a plastic bag. Beneath the huge white dress shirt and cavernous sweatpants, her skin tingled, as if she had donned his clothes the morning after a night of scrupulous lovemaking.
    It was the stress, the proximity, and the deprivation. Why else would she be experiencing a sudden physical attraction to a hulking detective who was only hanging around because he expected her to eventually betray the whereabouts of his witness? He completed his inspection of her assets and met her gaze again in spite of bodies moving between them.
    He was rather good-looking in a rugged sort of way. Who had Helen compared him to—Steve McQueen? Quite a change from the slender soft-handed men she had dated in the past. He stared and shifted his big body forward on the bench, an unmistakable gesture of invitation. She wet her lips involuntarily.
    "Ma'am?"
    She turned back to the receptionist. "Yes?"
    "Ms. Ryder is in X-ray, but the technician says it's backed up. It'll be at least an hour if you'd like to get something to eat."
    "Can I see her?"
    The woman frowned, but relented and pointed the way.
    Roxann followed a winding path through hallways and curtained areas. Angora lay in a corner bed with her eyes closed, pale, with golden hair fanned against the pillow. The bruises on her neck had turned pale purple. To Roxann's surprise, Angora's lawyer sat next to her bed.
    "I didn't realize you were still here, Mr. um—"
    "Brown," he whispered, standing. "I'm not supposed to be, but I didn't want the cops bothering Ms. Ryder."
    The man was short and well-fed, with honest light brown eyes behind thick spectacles. He smelled faintly of manure. "How is she?" she asked.
    "They think it might be her gallbladder. Something to do with a crash diet, followed by a binge?"
    Not good, but at least not a heart attack. "Will she have to have surgery?"
    "They won't know until they do more tests."
    "As if you care," Angora said.
    Roxann turned to see Angora had awakened. She was surprised at the venom in her cousin’s voice. "How are you feeling?"
    "Lousy. And I don't want you here."
    She pulled back. "Why?"
    "I'll step out into the hall," Mr. Brown offered, then skedaddled.
    Angora's mouth tightened. "Are you happy now that I'm on my deathbed and accused of murder?"
    "You're not on your deathbed, and how can you think that I'd be happy about any of this?"
    "You told the police things I said." Angora sat up, her red eyes welling. "Things I told you in confidence. They think I murdered Carl because of you and your jealousy."
    She frowned. "Jealousy?"
    Angora leaned forward, her eyes wide and glazed. "You couldn't stand the thought of Carl